


Sex Type Thing

by L_Nevada



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Age Difference, Arguing, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Inspired by Music, Jealousy, Light Dom/sub, Music, Old Married Couple, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Nevada/pseuds/L_Nevada
Summary: The one necessary fic in which you (the reader) show up to TM drunk and start flirting with someone who isn't your partner. Your partner gets jealous and there's only one way to dissolve the sudden tension between the two of you. Or just a smutty one shot featuring Chibs Telford with a surprise happy ending.I wrote this in one sitting when I was bored, couldn't sleep, and thinking about my favorite Scottish actor in his best role. Enjoy...





	Sex Type Thing

**Author's Note:**

> The song used as inspiration for this fic is "Sex Type Thing" by Stone Temple Pilots. There's at least one lyric reference in the actual fic to the song. I recommend listening to it on repeat as you read as that what I was doing when I wrote it out.
> 
> I use the term "Oldman" just like "Oldlady" filling in for partner whether its "proper" to do so or not because equality. "Old man" as two words is a nickname (like Piney's nickname or meaning dad) on its own while "Oldman" is a title. Both are used here. I use this in all my SOA slash fics.
> 
> Apologies if Chibs' dialogue isn't 100% nailed down. I am very much not Scottish, I was tired while editing, and this was just meant to be a simple piece. Enjoy...

I ain’t, I ain’t, I ain’t  
A-buying into your apathy.  
I’m gonna learn ya my philosophy,  
You wanna know about atrocity, atrocity…

~~ ~~

You stumble into the clubhouse with Lyla clinging to your arm. You’re both a little tipsy from the wine you had at dinner, but that doesn’t stop her from dragging you forcefully to the bar in search for a beer. 

The weekly party held by the local MC is in full swing with the yard outside covered in people from the open garage to the loading dock. Liquor is in every hand as they meander about. Some are dressed more promiscuously than others. A clear sign that church was held earlier in the evening. You saw several patch members as you walked in. All of them knowing your face offered their own form of greeting to you out of respect before returning to their previous activities. You recognized many other faces in the crowd – regulars, friends, and hang-arounds – but you didn’t see your Oldman as you came in. 

You don’t think much of it, assuming he already has his hands full with a groupie or two. That’s alright. Your best friend Lyla Winston keeps you company as a prospect who you’ve yet to learn the name of hands you each a beer. You both watch as he opens them and then turn to stare out at the bar floor. 

Music is blaring, but the words are muffled by party goers. The bar room is just as packed as the lot outside. Drinks and food are being passed around and scantily clad women are hanging onto any man who will take them – SAMCRO or otherwise. 

You have no set plans in mind. Willing to go wherever the night takes you. You’re neither looking to nor opposed to being picked up by some stranger looking for a good time till morning. 

You spot a couple of garage employees standing around a pool table. Their attempts to sink the balls are casual. More interested in conversation than the game itself. One of the men, Dog your wine riddled memory supplies, catches your eye and waves you over. You feel Lyla tug on your arm once more only to let go completely to stand to her fullest height compounded by the additional height of her six inches heels. Together in matching mat black cocktail dresses you saunter over to the pool table and join the game playing in teams of two. 

You like Dog. He’s worked on your car a few times, but this is the first time you’ve stopped to have a discussion with him. He also happens to be your type. Burly, unruly hair at times, and though his brown eyes may not necessarily be your favorite pair in the world they would certainly do for a night. 

Yet the conversation remains lax. Again, no plans are certain, and you are not intentionally flirting, at least not overtly, waiting to see how the night plays out on its own and if the garage employee will be brave enough to take home an unofficial Oldlady. 

Lyla turns her back on you. She steals the attention of her playing partner and you wonder as Dog seizes an opportunity to help you line up a particularly difficult shot if that was in fact her intention as you know she won’t sleep with anyone but her husband outside of her work. Maybe Lyla thought she was acting as a good wing woman. 

You are not shy as you lean forward over the pool table lining up your eye with the shot. Dog’s hands position your arms in a way he deems appropriate before closing his hands over your own. The action causing him to lean in close pressing his chest to your back and you are again left to wonder if the thigh pressed so well aligned between your legs is purposeful. 

“Get yer filthy, greasy, light-weight hands off her.”

Even over the sound of music and the clinking of glasses and loud conversations that powerful voice with that distinct accent that you would know anywhere pierces through the cacophony. 

Several men in the vicinity drop their arms from around girls’ waists not wanting to risk the possible beat down being meant for them if they didn’t. Dog reels backwards distancing himself from the pool table as those who had been watching the game turn to the local designated angry Scotsman who is seething with rage in the center of the bar. 

You place the pool cue on the table and your hands gravitate to your hips as Chibs passes you as if you are not even there. Instead stalking up to the man who had been taking your cues and who you hadn’t meant to put in what the poor guy evidently views as mortal danger. 

A few inches shorter than Dog, Chibs manages to intimidate the long-time employee getting right in his face. “Touch my Oldlady again and you’ll miss more than a few paychecks.” Dog, wanting to keep his job as much as his life, nods while taking another step back from the known outlaw. 

“Hello dear,” you speak from behind Chibs. “How was work?” 

Chibs rounds on you, gets what appears to be the first real look at your dress which is well above finger tip length, and his anger only grows. His face sets in a permanent scowl and you can imagine the argument to come. 

He doesn’t speak as he grabs you by the arm intent on leading you from the premises. Lyla tries to step beside you to say goodbye, or perhaps that she’s sorry. You manage to say to her before you exit, “I think I’ll be banished to the couch tonight.”

Outside along the railing Chibs mounts his bike. He puts on his glasses and hands you his own helmet which you begrudgingly accept. Knowing that making a scene in front of an audience will only get you in deeper trouble. 

When you sit on the bike you wrap your arms around Chibs’ chest as you normally would. But instead of flat palms against his leather you close your hand into a fist while grabbing onto your wrist with the other as a final act of defiance before he speeds out of TM towards his apartment. 

\-- --

It doesn’t take long. The ride is only about ten minutes from the clubhouse. Not nearly long enough for Chibs to cool off and forget that he’s angry. Angry because he’s jealous which he feels he shouldn’t be. And jealous because you let another man touch you in public. At his bar, no less, when he was likely in the same room the entire time. 

You hop off and are quick to walk up to the door leaving him to shut off the bike. You step inside, opening the door with your personal key, with your mind already made up that you’re not going to care what he has to say. You’ll let him rant and rave and that will be it. He’ll calm down, you’ll probably have sex which will lead you stay the night which has been becoming a frequent occurrence, and life will continue as it has for the last several months. 

At least that’s what you plan to have happen. Instead…

“What the fuck do ye think you were doing?!” He enters the apartment slamming the door with so much force you swear the whole building shakes. Though it might be the booze making you feel off balanced.

“Playing pool,” the words slip without first being considered. 

“Dress’ like that? Where the fuck did you get that thing?”

“It’s Lyla’s,” you say looking down to smooth your hands over the material. Having picked her up at the studio there were plenty of styles and sizes to choose from. With Lyla’s expertise she fitted you to a perfectly form fitting dress. It’s not your typical attire, but you enjoyed dressing up if only for an evening with a friend. 

You realize your hands have a mind of their own as they follow your curves purposefully. You look up to the biker seductively, but Chibs’ brows are furrowed with no sign of relaxing any time soon. “We went to dinner. We treated ourselves. I went out of my way to socialize with someone outside the club which last I checked was your idea!”

“A cam girl isn’t my first pick fer a friend.”

“That cam girl is your brother’s wife,” you remind him, thinking yourself clever for standing up for the working mother. 

“And she hasn’ any business dressing you like a slag and parading you around like a damn escort.”

“I do a fine job of parading myself, thank you. So much for an open relationship. Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me you weren’t off with some Crow Eater?”

“I was waiting for you. And our arrangement says nothing about you showing up to my clubhouse and hooking up with my employees in front of my friends,” Chibs spits. As angry as he clearly is it’s just as evident that his feelings are hurt by your actions. 

That doesn’t stop you from throwing insults his way. “Guy, girl, employee, prostitute, cam girl, it’s all the same. What’s wrong Chibby? Getting sentimental in your old age? Tired of sharing me or are you just mad you wouldn’t have been able to watch?”

Chibs moves so fast your alcohol heavy eyes actually miss it. Suddenly your back is against the wall. A hand is on your right hip and another is against your left shoulder pressing you up against the wall. Chibs levels you with his stare. His breath smelling of cigarettes and beer though he has always been more capable of holding his liquor than you and he has had much less than you tonight. 

“I want ye to have friends outside of the club because as much as I want ye in my life I don’t want the club to become yers. You can fuck whoever you want just as I can,” he states though his voice wavers for on the final sentence before steeling again. “But I would never disrespect ye by hooking up in front of you or with someone you see on a regular basis.”

“But you’re perfectly comfortable telling me how to dress. Letting Crow Eaters I see at ‘family dinners’ suck you off. Tell me, you want me to be an Oldlady, but I don’t get to have fun if you’re not involved?”

“Yer not a goddamn Oldlady. If ye were ye’d do as ye were fucking told!” For some reason his accent is bleeding through the more he speaks. Tension is rising between your bodies and you’re waiting for something to break the dam. You think you find it.

“What am I then Chibs?”

Chibs’ already deep, dark brown eyes are made even darker when he hears the demanding question. He draws a breath in his lungs as he pulls you abruptly off the wall. He spins you effortlessly only to push you face first against the blank white Sheetrock with your forearms pressed above you head for support. His hands clench around the top hem of the dress and tear the fabric clean in two as you hear him declare over your shoulder, “Mine.”

The dress splits straight down your back. Without fabric on the shoulders the material falls to the floor and you’re left in nothing but black lace panties. 

“That wasn’t mine to keep,” you chide him for the dress even as you press your ass against his work jeans tauntingly. 

“I said ye shouldn’t have worn th’ dress.”

Chibs doesn’t bother to remove his clothes. He barely has the patience to shove off his kutte and open his jeans enough to pull out his uncut member. His hands are too eager to return to your body. Raking down your front, squeezing your breasts together, rubbing along your ribs, your navel, down across your thighs. He pulls your panties to one side to rub his length against your clit and you subconsciously press against him, naturally trying to line his cock with your entrance. 

“Stop teasing you prick.”

“After you behaved like a cunt?” he asks, causing you to shudder at his choice of language. “Traipsing around like a whore in front of God and everybody? Seems fair to me.”

His free hand presses on your lower back causing you to arch lower and spread your legs. You lean your full weight on your arms and throw a look over your shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me tonight or are you just going to stare?”

“I was rather content,” he mumbles. He’s rocking into you steadily enjoying being the reason you’re growing wet. “I’m not sure you deserve to cum tonight.”

“You’re a right bastard, you know tha-?”

The words catch in your throat. Chibs presses into you and the stretch between your legs immediately has you seeing stars. 

When he pauses, letting you adjust to his size, he leans forward to pant across your shoulder blades. “Ye were saying?”

“Don’t you feel so much better,” you gasp. Not one to begin with begging you manage a smirk as you playfully suggest, “Wanna try moving?”

Chibs fists your hair with his dominant hand. Lifting you, he pushes you flat against the wall. Following you close as not to lose contact you feel so much as you hear him growl, “I can’t say no to you.”

He sets an insistent pace, holding both of you against the wall with his chest as he drills into you. Your arms are pinned above you. Your body is radiating heat like a furnace. Your hair is in your eyes as you attempt to meet his hips with every thrust, though there isn’t much room between the two of you. However, you realize you can create space between you and the wall. “Fuck! Chibs, touch me.”

“What’s that?” He asks, stilling, causing you to groan from the absence of friction. He pulls his cock out slowly until just the head is left inside. “My cock isn’t good enough?”

You bang your forehead on the wall in frustration as you relent. “Please, Chibby. Fuck me.”

“You always get what you want.”

Chibs releases his vice like grip in your hair to slide his hand to the warmth between your legs. You forfeit your attempts to rock your hips as Chibs rubs circles against your clit that match the speed of his cock pumping effortlessly inside you. He’s fully encompassing you – he is everything that you feel, everything you hear, everything you smell – as he forces you to submit to his unyielding pleasure. And as the pressure builds within you, when the sensation becomes too great, there’s nowhere for you to go as you cum hard against his hand and slouch against the drywall waiting until he ultimately spills into you completely spent.

“No more love,” Chibs pants into your hair. “No more.”

“Elaborate old man,” but the words are no longer malicious. You turn in his arms to face him stroking the sweat dampened hair behind his ear. 

“I cannae see you with anyone else. I want ye to move in with me,” and the words flow out all at once as if he is afraid he’ll lose his nerve. A thought that has evidently been brewing in the back of his mind for some time finally expels. “I want ye ta be mine.”

“Sex and a proposal.” Or at least you understand that it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a proposal from the man you chose to be with. “I should have acted out sooner.”

“Is that a ‘yes’, you infuriatingly mad and beautiful woman?” Chibs eyes shining with the brightest glimpse of hope communicating his genuine desire to hear your answer.

“Yes, alright. You win.” You wrap your arms around his neck and are hard pressed to find a reason to let him go. “I’ll move in with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Short, sweet, and to the point. Still, I hope you enjoyed it! Comments always appreciated if you did and I'll see you in whatever I happen to post next.


End file.
